


Pride

by Hazazel



Series: Oikage week 2 - april 2015 [6]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-06
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 13:59:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3694955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hazazel/pseuds/Hazazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You want to shout that you won't stop before you are sitting at the top and all you can do is practice even harder not to be overthrown. You want to shout that you're better now, better than you ever were and it makes you so proud to feel the ball matching the curve of your fingers like it was made to be there, purring a soft melody – but you're still out of breath, and all you can do is hide your panting with a stuck-out tongue and a finger to your eye.</p><p>Written for day 6 of the Oikage week.<br/>Narcissus : egotism, self esteem</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Day 6 already !   
> Narcissus – Egotism, self esteem

The first time your hand touches the ball, it bounces away with a loud noise, and you're so proud you managed to hit it – then you see the captain of your team serve, you see a setter toss, a spiker send the ball to the other side of the gym, and your smile vanishes as if it never existed. The player next to you seems to sense your mood shift, mistakes it for discomfort. It is not – you are not afraid even though the room is full of older people you don't know hitting balls loudly. It's _shame_ , it's _rage_. They are better, oh so much better than you, but you will practice, you will beat them all no matter what .

It becomes a song, a chant, a prayer, that you keep repeating again and again. But 'better' is not getting closer, when you hit the ball, it barely makes it to the other side of the net and your palms yell in anger-red frustration. Your tosses are slow, the ball whizzing past your ears in what sounds like mocking whistles, and you're never on sync for spike – when your shoes hit the ground, they spell 'failure' under your toes. They're still all so nice to you, the other players, smiling, saying that first years seldom practice this hard. Obviously, it's not hard enough, if you still can't get it right.

First year is a blur, practice and practice, in the bright shame of the gym or the shadows of your garden - it never stops. Eventually, you improve, and the ball touching your hands kisses you in comfort. It feels so good you manage to get a hold of the gym's keys, to practice all by yourself. Iwaizumi shakes his head but ever since he tagged along, all these yers ago, he never really said a thing. All he does is stay in a corner while he watches you serve and serve and serve again, eventually offering you a white knee cap after that one night you fell so hard you couldn't get up on your own and limped for three days. “Why are you doing this anyway, you're better than most of us”, he asks in disbelief. You want to shout that you won't stop before you are sitting at the top and all you can do is practice even harder not to be overthrown. You want to shout that you're _better_ now, better than you ever were and it makes you so proud to feel the ball matching the curve of your fingers like it was made to be there, purring a soft melody – but you're still out of breath, and all you can do is hide your panting with a stuck-out tongue and a finger to your eye.

oo 

It's third year now and you are made captain of the team and _nothing_ – except jump-serving right for the first time – has ever felt this good. You're over the top and it takes all your self control not to scream and dance and jump because you've made it ! But you have to stay quiet, because they're introducing the new club members and as the captain – yes, it's you ! you are ! - you have to listen to the rather short list of names. They all seem so little, so inexperienced. You promise yourself you will never look like this again, lost and unsettled. You remember how it feels, though, seeing all the players around you, so with a wolfish grin you grab a ball and ask them to do the basics. They all fail to serve, the ball hitting the net with a loud thud that makes them cringe. Iwaizumi also cringes when you tell them that they're bad – but since you are the captain, you'll help them get better. They all watch wide-eyed as you get a new ball, and jump, and serve, and the ball hits the other side of the court just before the white line. It feels so good, their gaze on you. It makes you forget you were the same, these eyes shining 'awe', and that is sometimes hurt a little when you land – you are careful to support your weight on the left leg now. They stop staring because you make them spike, and the smallest one is literally devouring your every move with his big blue eyes. His spike is almost good, he lacks accuracy but this is nothing a bit of practicing won't change. You make them toss, too, because you're the setter and you want to see what they are worth. The little one is last, tense to the point he almost trembles as he waits for the ball to come his way and – _oh_ . Iwaizumi is talking, maybe congratulating him, but you can't hear a thing over the rush of blood in your ears whispering 'defeat' and the shattering sound of your pride thrown to the ground. Of course he's not perfect, your brain rationalizes, of course he'll have to work harder and harder and harder – well, _you_ will have to, because he is going to be better than you in no time if you don't set a schedule soon. You already regret signing up for this Monday class, that's less time to practice. When you tell the first-years the schedule, you're almost tempted to leave Mondays out too, because the less he practices, the smaller a threat he can be. But he watches you with such admiration in his too large eyes it makes your ego swell and croon and maybe he's not that bad after all.

It's your second practice match this year and you've been beaten so hard Iwaizumi cursed aloud on the court and you went to hide in a bathroom after the other team members went away. Your frustrated insults have lowered down to soft cries now and tears have been streaming down your face for the last half an hour, dropping on the tiles with soft 'plocs' that seem both condemning and reassuring, alternating between 'you failed' and 'it's ok'. There are footsteps getting closer, probably Iwaizumi checking why you are not practicing. Just fort this once, you feel so thoroughly downhearted that you might even skip the night run to your house. No, actually you can't, you just can't. It is not because your ego was trampled upon that you are allowed to wallow in self pity like first year all over again. You will get up, practice harder, and beat Shiratorizawa – but next time, not now. The bathroom door opens and you regret not wiping your face. It's not Iwa-chan. “Oikawa-san, I'm sorry !” Kageyama blurts out, and stays there silently, obviously as devastated as you are – even more since he just stumbled on his captain crying on the bathroom floor. If your pride was smashed before, its remnants are now outraged and it takes all of your willpower not to start yelling again. “Go home, Tobio”, you say, and he is so startled by the use of his first name that he nods and scampers along with his volleyball in his hands. He did not play today, just watched from the bench with naive wonder, yet he still has this awe-filled gaze, the same he gave you before you lost. Even this time, it manages to soften your bitterness, and maybe tonight's practice isn't completely lost after all.

oo

This time you're so enraged even two hours straight of jump serves can't erase the burning reality of _defeat_ – the ball falling to the ground in a loud ' _you_ _lose_ '. Iwaizumi has been watching from his corner, raising his head from time to time to say that you will end up limping again if you don't calm down a little. But you have been _benched_ – it stings, it hurts, each ball you spike looks like this stupid little Tobio-chan whose tosses you can't even blame on his genius since he practices almost as hard as you do. You don't care at all about limping and it's the worst feeling ever. Suddenly he is there, or maybe he has been for a while but you did not see him, little Tobio and his volleyball safely tucked between his hands, you know what he's about to say - “Teach me how to jump serve, Oikawa-san”, it follows you even into your dreams. Right now though it's annoying, more than that, it feeds the beast inside of you that sits on its well-earned throne and feels threatened by large blue eyes.

You watch, with mild surprise, a bit of horror too, as your fist curls inches away from Tobio's face, Iwaizumi's hand on yours. It's the first time he looks at you without awe or even a slight blush, his already pale face drained of blood and twisted with fear for a second. And then it's gone, Tobio even apologises later on – you shut him up and apologise because _you_ 've been doing wrong. At home, when everyone's asleep, when you're all alone in your room, you grab a mirror and take a look at your face. Of course you look good, you know this, and girls remind you all the time. But you usually don't have a frown so deep it is painful to keep on, but it just won't go away. You almost hit a child, poor little Tobio-chan who would have willingly gotten the punch if it could make the anger and frustration leave your body – Iwaizumi's words echo in your head, “This boy's got a crush on you the size of the gym, and all you've been doing is trash him around ! It's a wonder he still willingly talks to you.” Tobio's got a crush on your volleyball skills, your head tells you, and your pride scoffs. “Teach me how to jump-serve, Oikawa-san.” Of all the times your self esteem is right it has to be about a pining little boy, but it swells and bathes in this realisation. Just your luck, having your future rival crushing over you. You hope that's all there will ever be to it.

oo

He gives you his handkerchief and you realise he's watching you cry _again_. It is the most he ever had from you, when you got the puppy eyes, the wide smile and the awestruck, innocent gaze – 'love', it spells, even now that you have snot all over your face. It is not fair. You think you will miss those, next year. And you do, you miss those eyes following you wherever you went like you were the centre of their world, and the “Oikawa-san, Oikawa-san” soothing your temper – you still dream about those sometimes, and about your fingers so close to his face for all the wrong reasons. Maybe you regret a little, and your ego mourns and remembers.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it !


End file.
